Oh gosh, I have been neglecting this blog, haven’t I? How have you all been? I’ve been moving house, which has been by turns triumphant and also hideous. Mostly hideous, to be honest. However, it’s mostly done now and we’re starting to settle in, which is nice. The new house is LOVELY by the way and I’m really looking forward to getting on with some writing here as it’s just the sort of big, bright, book and art stuffed house that fosters creativity.
Anyway, that aside, I have come back to tell you about the utterly brilliant Winter at Death’s Hotel by Kenneth Cameron, which I read while we were moving – in fact it was so gripping that I kept sneaking off with my Kindle to read more of it, much to my husband’s annoyance.
‘New York, January 1896. Arthur Conan Doyle, the renowned creator of Sherlock Holmes, arrives at the Britannic Hotel with his wife, Louisa, ready to begin his first American tour. While he prepares his lectures, Louisa becomes mesmerised by this brash, vibrant, dangerous city, especially when a woman’s brutally butchered corpse is found in a Bowery alley and Louisa is convinced from the artist’s sketch in the paper that she’d seen the victim at the hotel. Arthur is patronisingly skeptical about her womanly ‘fantasies’ but when she sprains her ankle and is forced to remain at the hotel while Arthur goes on tour, Louisa cannot resist pursuing her intuitions. And when more bodies start appearing, she’s convinced that she holds the key to the killings. With the help of the hotel’s hard-bitten detective and an ambitious female news reporter, Louisa starts to piece together a story of madness, murder and depravity – a story that leads inexorably back to the hotel itself, the strange story of its unique construction and a madman who is watching her every move.‘
Even the most casual reader of this here blog will know that I am really keen on Victorian murder, strong female main characters, gruesome whodunits and Sherlock Holmes and I’m pleased to say that Winter at Death’s Hotel had all of these things IN SPADES. And then some.
The book begins with Arthur Conan Doyle’s arrival in New York in January 1896 to begin a lecture tour of America accompanied by his wife, the spirited, intelligent and absolutely charming Louisa, with her modern attitudes and frank interest in sex, who manages to be outspoken and intellectually curious in outlook without it striking a dud anachronistic note – a rare feat in a book of this type. I thought she was brilliant and the perfect guide to late nineteenth century New York with its brown stone houses, gangs, warring immigrant communities, slums and busy, bustling streets.
I don’t want to give too much away as this book is full of twists and turns and the occasional jaw dropping shock but suffice to say that just as the Conan Doyles are leaving for their tour, things go more than a little bit awry when Louisa trips on the hotel carpet and sprains her ankle then passes out, which forces Arthur to go without her, leaving her behind in New York where she wastes no time in involving herself in a really quite horribly gruesome murder that has taken place in the down at heel Bowery district. I have to say as an aside that Louisa’s reasoning behind her interest in the murders really resonated with me – like me she is motivated purely by wanting to get justice for the victims, for wanting to humanise, know and understand them beyond the impersonal non details reported in the press where, as ever, the emphasis is on the killer, the so called ‘Bowery Butcher’ and not on the women he has slaughtered.
Louisa’s occasionally clumsy but always well meaning investigations lead her into the underbelly of New York, a seedy world of corrupt policemen, murdered prostitutes, sassy female journalists, oddly attractive hotel detectives along with a smattering of real people such as the wonderful Maria Corelli, Sir Henry Irving, William ‘Buffalo Bill’ Cody and Theodore Roosevelt, seen here before his Presidency during his tenure as president of the board of New York City Police Commissioners.
I have to say that this book was the perfect antidote to the post Ripper Street doldrums as it had the same gritty attention to detail, strong characters, teeming city streets and sordid backdrop. In fact I went even further and imagined that the Murder Squad detective, his side kick and the hotel detective looked like Reid, Drake and Jackson. I may possibly have a bit of a problem. Anyway, if you liked Ripper Street then you’ll probably really love this as well.
In summary, this is a great book with a cracking pace, fabulous characters and a truly loveable heroine. A definitely recommended read for anyone with a thing for gloomy Victoriana, iniquity in old New York and especially those missing their weekly dose of Ripper Street! Be warned though it’s really gruesome in places!
ps. I really hope there’s going to be a sequel as I’d love to read more about Louisa – apparently she and her husband went to Egypt later in 1896; surely there’s a novel in that?
